


"A Drunk Man's Words..."

by ZomBrie



Series: Ghosts of Sinner's Past [5]
Category: Hellsing
Genre: Gen, Gender Neutral, Other, Reader-Insert, Reader-Interactive, Sexual Content, a bit more like how we know him, alucard is a cheeky bastard in this, and talks of virginity, but he's not in love with you (YET), cause we all know that the concept of virginity is fake, like he'd be kinda tempted to take you to pound town, more like just brief mentions of sexual activity, nothing explicit though, reader's "virginal status" is purposefully left ambiguous, you - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-15
Updated: 2019-03-15
Packaged: 2019-11-18 06:21:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18115073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZomBrie/pseuds/ZomBrie
Summary: "...are a sober man's thoughts." aka you shove your whole foot in your mouth while drinking with Alucard.[Alucard/Gender Neutral Reader]Warning: dialogue about virginity and sex; brief mentions of sexual activity(nothing explicit)





	"A Drunk Man's Words..."

**Author's Note:**

> edit: fixed some mistakes, sorry about that y'all

“Is vampirism really determined by virginal status?”

It’s over a bottle of wine that this question finds its bravery.

The drink itself has some boujee French name that you can’t even hope to pronounce, and its age dates back at least fifty years before you were born- probably worth twice as much as you too. And though your palette is accustomed to the four dollars a bottle variety the wine’s color reminds you of your drinking companion and admittedly it’s rather damn tasty, fruity and light and sits sweetly on the back of your tongue, so when the drink was offered you accepted a glass graciously.

Then you accepted another glass, followed by one more... three and a half glasses in and you’re ready to discuss all of the subjects that are considered conversational taboo where you’re from. Instead of politics and religion, however, you opt for something He’s a tad more familiar with than most.

The stemless crystal pauses a hair’s width away from His lips, and though He doesn’t spare you a glance it’s obvious that you have His attention. Obvious in the way the slight heat of His breath fogs the clear, glossy surface just a little, obvious in the way His scarlet eyes seem to flit over the scene of the drink, and in the way the arch of His brow tugs up in tandem with a broad shoulder.

“That’s the theory, though I suspect that there are more conditions beyond one’s sexual experience.” Alucard replies, His tone suggesting an air of casual aloofness. “It seems that it’s the most plausible, however.” 

From the back of your throat comes a thoughtful hum before you wash it down with more wine. Out of the corner of your eye you can see Him do the same, though far more elegantly due to the fact that you can’t even hear Him sip, and you take this moment to... consider Him.

Consider His impossibly long legs, and how one crosses over the other with such poise- _trapped, caged, restrained by them_ ; consider the generous expanse of His chest, nearly too large for the dark vest that conforms around His slim waist- _on top, weighing down, or underneath, firm support_ ; how slender His fingers are, artistic, almost like spider legs in the way they curl around the glass’ globe- _gripping flesh, neck, in between thighs_ \- pianist fingers; you watch the sharp cut of His chin tilt back to allow more sour grapes to pour down His milk white throat- which bobs with every subtle gulp. Your drunken brain craves the visuals of clean bed sheets and sticky skin and the weight of His body, and it doesn’t tell you to peel the dried layers of skin from your lips with your teeth but you do it anyways cause it’s hot and stuffy in this room and you’re wearing far too much clothing.

Alucard is... attractive. Terrifying, and awful, but attractive nonetheless.

This is a reality that you’ve come to accept, yet even on your best days do you refuse to let that thought linger, refuse to let it fester and chafe your already confused emotions. However, now... here, in a recreation room with plush cushions at your back and a bottle at your side, you might be tempted to...

...maybe it’s the wine talking, or maybe it’s the sharp peak of His large aristocratic nose... but you’re attracted to Him. Sober Murray would deny that, shut that shit down immediately and remind yourself of all of the torment He’s hurled you way, however you’re not sober Murray right now. You’re drunk Murray, and drunk Murray can only think about how well versed this creature is in salacious pleasure.

Wait... is He? He has to be- well, no, He doesn’t have to be, just seems like He _would_ be. How much experience does He have? Does He have any?

...is He still, and you hesitate to ask yourself this because the concept of “virginity” makes your eyes roll, but _is_ He still a virgin?

When your mind, unfortunately, finalizes that thought it supplies you with the following information: Alucard is looking at you, direct eye contact being made and maintained, with the drink in His lap and both of His dark brows pushing into His hairline.

He looks... shocked? Which in turn surprises you cause you ain’t ever seen Him caught off guard before. Perhaps you’re wrong? After all what could be so alarming to startle _fucking Alucard?_

The corners of His lips twitch as the rest of His face relaxes, red eyes no longer the size of dinner plates, and He regards you with a quiet, droning chuckle. “And why do you wish to know that, little hunter?”

...what? Know what? Did you ask Him something? What did you ask Him?!

 _Ya asked if He’s a virgin, jackass,_ whatever remains of your sobriety reminds you, and though you could’ve swore that all of that internal dialogue was just that, in your head, apparently your sloshed brain is slower than your mouth and now you've opened up rather personal dialogue with a very powerful vampire.

It’s time to back-pedal kiddo and you had better be quick about it.

“W-well you’re vampire,” you blurt, ears and cheeks and neck feeling hot. “And if virginity is the determining factor here than obviously you were before, and I’m just curious if you are still.”

The eye contact doesn’t break; you notice that His are moving, studying, though never leaving you, and your memory jogs with the numerous instances you’ve suffered when you have had His absolute, unwavering attention. Instincts haywire, brain sending confusing signals to gut because neither can determine what the threat genuinely is, heart pumping so rapidly that it nearly seems like it’s not even beating... In all twenty six years of your human existence you’ve never encountered anyone or any _thing_ that’s tapped so intimately into your primal monkey brain, so when He finally removes His gaze it honestly feels like a tremendous weight has been lifted off of your shoulders. Crisis averted, Murray.

“To answer your question, no I am not a virgin,” Alucard says. Not one moment later, a smirk slithers across His lips until it blows out into a full grin, and it’s wide enough to reach from one ear to the other, and any relief you’ve might have felt starts to fade. “Now that I’ve indulged you...” He glances at you out of the corner of His eye, “... it’s only fair that you return the favor.”

There’s a heavy pressure wrapped around your right shoulder, a hand, judging by the fingers squeezing tight on your collarbone and the thumb gripping the back of your neck. It’s not coming from your vampiric companion- He’s still sitting in the lone chair, one hand cradling His nearly empty wine glass and the other on an armrest- yet instinctively, whether it be from generations of evolution or from years of mediumship, you know that somehow He’s involved.

This is confirmed when you watch Him lean forward in His chair, fangs on display, and a small puff of hot air ghosts across the corner of your jaw.

The gasp that’s forced out of your chest isn’t born from fear.

“So riddle me this, my curious little revenant.” The grasp on your shoulder stiffens a fraction, the fingertips curling into the bone while another cloud of breath passes down the pulse in your neck; His own fingers tighten around the glass, and His grin spreads some. “If I were to bite you right now...” another rush of hot air, this time on the curve of flesh and muscle that connects neck to shoulder, and you resist your body’s natural reaction to flinch, “... would you turn?”

Your lungs expand as you draw in a deep breath. A tingling sensation erupts all over your body, goosebumps from head to toe with every single fine hair standing on end, and your heart pounds away at your ribs- a response that sends blood battering into your head, into your ears. You feel dizzy. And, again it might be the wine talking, yet you’re not scared. You’re not afraid.

Drunk Murray is not afraid of Alucard.

(Well... not entirely.)

And drunk Murray wants to rise to the challenge.

It takes every inch of your spine to do this, but you manage to straighten your posture with squared shoulders and your chin tilted up. And after clearing your throat, albeit not exactly quietly, you dared to look directly in to His eyes and say “I guess you’ll have to find out.”

You didn’t think it possible but the smile stretches across His face even more; for the first time ever Alucard looks pleased with you.

**Author's Note:**

> a/u: strong start weak finish, that's how i feel about this. but i've been in a writing slump for quite some time now so i'm happy to at least finish SOMETHING, ya know? and i was struck with inspiration to do something saucy. so here ya go. if you like this then please show your support through them kudos, comments, and criticisms! and if you wanna request something then my inbox is always open c:


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